THE AMERICAN
we've had the world's attention. We've been felt to be worth it."
"Oh," said Newman, "if it's but a question of what you're worth—!" He hung fire an instant, and then, "Should you like to know what I am?" he demanded.
He had held his companion by his pause, and his words prolonged a little the situation. "No, thanks," Valentin then replied. "It's none of my business. It's enough for me that you're worth, delightfully, my acquaintance and my wonder."
In recognition of these last words Newman for a moment said nothing. He only coloured as with a flush of hope. Then he raised his eyes to the ceiling and stood looking at one of the rosy cherubs painted on it. "Of course I don't expect to marry any woman for the asking," he observed at last: "I expect first to make myself acceptable to her. She must like me to begin with. But what I feel is how she must—from the moment she knows me as I want."
"As the prince of husbands?"
"Well yes—call it the prince, as you speak of such people."
"I believe," said Valentin after a moment, "that you 'd be as good a prince as another."
"I should be as good a husband."
"And that's what you want me to tell my sister?"
"That's what I want you to tell her."
The young man laid his hand on his companion's arm, looked at him critically, from head to foot, and then, with a loud laugh and shaking the other hand in the air, turned away. He walked again the length
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